


Corporate

by FrogSpawn



Series: Septiplier/Danti One-Shots [17]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Captivity, Depression, Dystopian, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Isolation, Murder, Sad Ending, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogSpawn/pseuds/FrogSpawn
Summary: To Mark Fischbach,Biomedical Engineering Sector 14.Thank you for getting back concerning the issue in the accounting of the most recent venture of Feather Flight. Your information has greatly aided the quest in solving the issue of possible security breaches; however I fear that more problems have arisen in the short period between our last correspondences. Due to a small fault within the programming, Feather Flight has not been operating smoothly and it is getting increasingly difficult to solve each issue. Several employees have already been laid off of the project and the overall risk of the project being dropped has increased exponentially. The team fears that if this task is dropped then the program will never face the light of day even with all of the love and time we have poured into its concept and execution. In case of this, I would like to thank you in the face of the Feather Flight Project.Best wishes,Sean McLoughlin,Management, Sector 11.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Sean McLoughlin
Series: Septiplier/Danti One-Shots [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1426423
Kudos: 4





	Corporate

**Author's Note:**

> I love this piece. It's really dark and depressing and it's particularly clear about anything, but I'm so proud of it. Anyway, if you enjoy it drop a kudos and a comment and thanks for reading!

The room was still held captive by a dark, depressing gloom that suffocated the room. In fact the only mention that it was even daytime was the red blinking digits of '6:53' from the bedside table where a radio stood, churning out pop hit after electro hits; it was all just white noise. Shadows played across the walls and floor, cackling and cawing as the man in the bed lay there with his dull eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, unblinking. There was no sparkle or glint of positivity within those brown orbs, only slight shimmering that came from the tears hidden by thick lashes.

"Two years, and just like that,

My head still takes me back.

Thought it was done,

But I guess it's never really over..."

The melodic whining and insentient computerised buzzing that apparently passed off as a beat abruptly ceased as the man finally shifted from his position to sit up and slammed his hand down on the alarm. It jostled the table, a picture jumping before losing its grip on solid ground and falling to the ground with a soft thud. Those same glassy eyes swept over the environment to check for any changes.

Stiff blue bed. Blue walls. Blue carpet. Fake plant in a blue plastic pot. Two doors. Two blue lamps. A small chest of drawers. No windows.

So that's a no then. He couldn't even be bothered to sigh as his feet hit the floor like they did every morning, hitting the exact spot as yesterday and the yesterday before that, before standing and making his way to switch on the closest dim lamp before travelling through one of the doors.

It was the size of cupboard with blue walls, a tiled grey floor, a toilet, small mounted sink that had a small mirror attached to the side and shower head. A couple of rolls of toilet paper, some all in 1 shampoo and conditioner, a few small bars of soap, toothpaste and brush, two thread-bare towels, even some shaving cream and a safety razor.

Movements mechanical and practised, he stripped from his blue shirt and denim jeans, discarding them somewhere in the bed chamber before closing the door and turning on the shower head. Same routine as every morning: shower, toilet, teeth, shave, dress, eat, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Long ago had he banished any thought of differing from that schedule or the longing that ached in his chest when he thought of the outside world, of his family or friends. It only led to punishments and he couldn't cope with much more pain.

When he had exited the bathroom, only a towel clinging to his wet hips, and finally opened a drawer in the wardrobe, he stared blankly at the rows of identical clothing. Same blue shirt, same jeans, same black boxers, same white socks. The only differing item in that drawer was a small, fluffy blue jacket for when the heating eventually gave out, although he didn't use it as the cold that crept into his bones was one of the sole things that reminded him of his humanity.

The last door led to the open plan eating and work environment. A row of counters fitted with drawers and cupboards, a single barstool, a fridge, some cupboards and another sink. Pressed against the other side of the room, in the farthest blue wall was a plastic desk with a padded chair that pulled in to a sleek computer. Letters littered the desk along with a couple of pens and pencils however most of the paper was piled neatly in the blue metal bin that sat right to the desk.

Upon opening the fridge and finding four wrapped plates of green things, a white puree of sorts and a hard slab of brown, he took one out and rummaged around in the cabinets for a glass and cutlery. As usual the meal was bland and tough, the water was cool and refreshing, and as much as he hated eating this there was a sense of hollow disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach along with the 'food' when the plate was empty. So, like any good subservient corporate slave would do, he shuffled over to the computer and sat down.

The background for the desktop was a wall of blue. Only three applications stood on that blue background; email, excel and word.

As soon as he had logged into his email with his 'unique' password, provided by the company but was really a series of numbers that represented him as a worker, he almost cracked a smile at the most recent one. It was from one of his sole correspondences that wasn't entirely work or business, a man named Sean. They had been chatting in code through emails for a while in an attempt to keep the other sane as they were trapped in this hell hole.

To Mark Fischbach,

Biomedical Engineering Sector 14.

Thank you for getting back concerning the issue in the accounting of the most recent venture of Feather Flight. Your information has greatly aided the quest in solving the issue of possible security breaches; however I fear that more problems have arisen in the short period between our last correspondences. Due to a small fault within the programming, Feather Flight has not been operating smoothly and it is getting increasingly difficult to solve each issue. Several employees have already been laid off of the project and the overall risk of the project being dropped has increased exponentially. The team fears that if this task is dropped then the program will never face the light of day even with all of the love and time we have poured into its concept and execution. In case of this, I would like to thank you in the face of the Feather Flight Project.

On a lighter note, we ask how your recent ventures have been running, we hope without problems. As the holiday season arises the workload will be growing heavier and faster, tasks becoming more insistent and arduous. I wish you luck on your papers.

Best wishes,

Sean McLoughlin,

Management, Sector 11.

Mark grimaced sharply as he took in the grave undertones of the message. So the boss was cracking the whip and Sean from experience that with each new assignment the danger of being made redundant was on the rise. While he was thankful for the warning, the numbness that had spread to every inch of his body save for those that had been saved by the charming, kind man on the other side of this message had found this out from experience and feared for his life. He knew it would take a while for the harsh, cruel, inhuman nature of this new type of work to trickle up to the higher positions within the company, which Mark occupied, if it had already reached management then it must been moving fast.

With a clear mind and focus on not panicking, he formulated a response, checked it over, and then sent it off with a heavy heart. He didn't even bother trying to encrypt his message as much as he usually would.

To Sean McLoughlin,

Management, Sector 11.

It has been my pleasure on partnering with your team on the Feather Flight Project, it is uncommon that a project grabs my attention as much as this one has. I am sorry that it will most likely be dismissed, however do not regret spending time on it. I would love to see it out until the end because it has brought me great joy. Who was in charge of the fault within the programming? I assume that they were the first to have their post opened up. I am sure that the project will continue due to your exemplary performance; your problem-solving skills are something to admire.

My current tasks have not been as heavy as yours it seems, however they might just catch up. Thank you for warning me so I can clear some room on my schedule for more hours in the office. Perhaps if the news works have been hard on you, we could work together to get them out faster and at a higher quality than before.

I will be keenly anticipating your response,

Mark Fischbach,

Biomedical Engineering, Sector 14.

He tried to distract himself from the gnawing worry that seemed to squirm and grow in his gut, yet he still found himself reloading his emails every few minutes, taking a break from the reports of the latest batch of test that he had been sent to analyse. Each time one poured in his heart fluttered before stuttering and dropping as the address read something different than what he wished it to. However, before long, he received one from the main security of the company.

As he read it, his eyes stung and his heart ached, yet he did not allow himself to break down. It was too surreal at the moment, the truth not yet set in. It would only really occur to him what had happened when he failed to get a response for the rest of the day, or the next day, or any of the following days that he was trapped within this hell of an office, forced to slave and slobber over reports and statistics and advise on inhumane projects that the 'worker's were forced to perform. No. So, for now, he held composure, and simply went on, the text still burning his eyes and mind.

Mark Fischbach,

Biomedical Engineering, Sector 14.

We have sent a notification to inform you that the account of Sean McLoughlin, Management, Sector 11, has been terminated due to lacklustre performance. Due to your correspondence with him regarding a project, your contact will be passed onto the new employee assigned to this task. We are sorry for any possible inconvenience that this decision might cause. We look forward to seeing your new projects and work in the future.

If there are any glitches or issues within the system, please report the machine that has sent you this message to your supervisor and it shall be resolved.

Thank you for your time,

Main Server Room, Product Code #21349

That night, as he lay in his blue sheets on top of his uncomfortable, lumpy mattress, Mark allowed himself to feel pity and sadness for the first time in a while since he had been locked in this place. He allowed himself to mourn and not simply turn a cold eye.

However, no matter how much pain he felt, how much pure and unadulterated anger that bubbling beneath his surface, he only allowed himself a few minutes. Mark had made a conscious choice to not get close to anyone, and yet Sean managed to, and whilst he had managed to stick around and keep him sane and socialising for years, he now he was gone.

With this thought heavy and suppressing his grief, he rolled over and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep so that he could get up the next day and begin his work with the no depleted energy. Lower performance means higher scrutiny, and if you wanted to survive, than any heat on you meant that you had failed in that task.

He just needed one chance to escape. One chance. But until then, he would try and sleep with the horrors whirling around his mind.


End file.
